A Pokemon Christmas Carol
by AutobotsInferior
Summary: Paul HATES Christmas with a passion and is not afraid to show it. But when Paul gets a visit from his dead friend Silver, he must change his ways. Based of Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol."
1. Silver's Ghost Part 1

With my Pokemon Transformers g1 crossover on hold, I've decided to make a Pokemon version of Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" **DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN POKEMON OR ORIGINAL STORY (sort of... I have a copy of the book but it ends there.)**

Silver was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Paul also signed it. And Paul's name was upon "Change, for anything he chose to put his mind to". Silver was dead as a doornail.

Did Paul know of this? Of course he did. How could he otherwise? Paul and Silver were partners for Arceus knows how many years. Paul was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, is sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Paul was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Silver's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Silver was dead (sorry fangirls). This must be _distinctly_ understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot – say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance – literally to astonish his sons weak mind.

Paul never painted out Silver's name. There is stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Paul and Silver. The firm was known as Paul and Silver. Sometimes people new to the business referred to it as Paul and sometimes Silver, but Paul answered to both names. It was all the same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight fisted hand to the grindstone, Paul! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, sinner! He was hard and sharp as a flint. Secret, and self contained, solitary as a Cloyster. The cold within him froze his features, nipped his nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. He carried his own temperature always about him; he iced his office in the dog days, and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.

External heat and cold had little-to-no influence on Paul. No warmth could warm, nor wintery weather freeze him. No wind that blew was bitterer than Paul; no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, were better than Paul in only one way: they often "came down" handsomely, and Paul never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks "My dear Paul, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars implored him for money, no children asked him for the time, no man or woman ever once inquired the way to such a place, of Paul. Even the blindmen's Growlithe appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, they would tug on their owners into doorways and up alleyways; and then the would wag their as though they said, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye!"

But what did Paul care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Paul.

Once upon a time- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve- Paul (who I forgot to mention is 32 in this story) sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people outside, go wheezing up and down, stamping their feet upon the pavement to warm them. Paul's wristwatch had just gone three, but if Paul had not had his watch he would have thought it was almost closing time, as it had not been light all day and as I said before it was quite foggy. In fact, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.

Paul and his clerk's room are divided by a door for privacy reasons. However today the door was open so that he could keep an eye on his clerk, Ash Ketchum who was copying letters. Paul had a very small fire, but Ash's fire was so much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Paul kept the coal-box in his won room; and so surely as Ash came in with the shovel, Paul looked, as Ash with a look that said, "Don't even think about it". Wherefore Ash put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed.

"A merry Christmas brother! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Paul's brother Reggie, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach. "Bah!" said Paul "Humbug!" He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this older brother of Paul's that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. "Christmas a humbug Paul?" said Reggie. "You don't mean that, I'm sure?" "I do," replied Paul. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason to be cheerful? You're poor enough." Oh come on little brother," returned Reggie. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason to be morose? You're rich enough." Paul having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah" and followed it up with "Humbug".

"Don't be cross Paul!" said Reggie. "What else can I be," returned Paul, "when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older but not a penny richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in them through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Paul indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'merry Christmas' on his lips, should be cooked with his own turkey, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. "Paul!" pleaded Reggie. "Reggie!" returned Paul sternly on the brink of a yell, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine." "Keep it?" asked Reggie. "You've never do that." "Let me leave it alone then," said Paul. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!" "There are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, " returned Reggie. "Christmas among the rest. But I can tell you right now, I have always thought of Christmas time as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time when men and women seem to open their shut up hearts freely and think of the lower class citizen. So, Paul, I will admit that Christmas has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, but I believe that Christmas has done me good, will do me good for ever more, and I say, Arceus bless it!"

Ash Ketchum started applauding such a wonderful speech. Unfortunately, Paul, who did not take this kindly, reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the ominous pink slip. "Let me hear another sound from _you_," walking toward Ash with the slip held out in his hand, "and you'll keep your Christmas by being in the unemployment line." Ash scurried back to his desk and poked the fire, thereby extinguishing the last frail spark forever.

'Don't be angry with him Paul. Anyway I came here to ask you to dine with Maylene and I tomorrow. So… Will you?" Paul looked at his older brother with a "are you mad?" kind of look. "No." was Paul's flat out response. "That's it? A flat out no?" "Oh… No way in hell. Now tell me Reggie, why did you get married?" The best answer Reggie could think of was "Because I fell in love." Paul's eye started twitching at the statement. It might not have been stupider than a merry Christmas to Paul but is certainly was on par. "Good afternoon!" "Paul, you never visited me before I even met her. Why won't you come?" "Good afternoon Reggie…" "I never asked for anything of you other than this; why can't we be friends?" "Good afternoon," said Paul starting to lose his temper. "It's no use Paul I've already made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas to you." "Good afternoon!" "And A Happy New Year!" **"GOOD AFTERNOON!"**

Reggie left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the door to say merry Christmas to Ash, who returned them cordially. "There's another guy, muttered Paul: my clerk who _just_ barely makes enough money to provide for his wife and family, talking about merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam.

This "idiot", in letting Reggie out, had let a Nurse Joy and her Chansey in. There was something different about this Nurse Joy, namely the color scheme of her outfit. She wore a red dress with a white cross on the stomach and the hat she usually wore was not present. As for the Chansey, she was holding a box with a slot on the top. Both Nurse Joy, and Chansey bowed to Paul.

"Paul and Silver's, If I'm right," said Nurse Joy, referring to her list. "Are you Paul or Silver? "Silver had been dead for seven years," Paul replied. "He died seven years ago, this very night." "I have no doubt his liberality is well represented by you." Said Nurse Joy, presenting her credentials. Paul frowned at the word "liberality", and handed the credentials back. "At this festive season of the year Sir, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer the most at the present time. Many thousands are in need of common necessaries; many more thousands are in need of common comforts." "Are there no prisons?" asked Paul. "Umm… Yes, plenty of prisons." Answered Nurse Joy "And the Union workhouses?" demanded Paul "Are they operational?" "Er… They still are." "The Treadmill and Poor Law? Are they in full vigor?" "Well… Both very busy Sir." "Ah! For a moment, I thought something happened to stop them. This is good news." "Well under the impression that they scarcely furnish the cheer of mind or body to the multitude." Returned Nurse Joy, "a few of us are trying to raise money to buy the poor some meat and drink and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?" "Nothing!" was Paul's stern reply. Nurse Joy looked confused for a moment. "Oh! You wish to remain anonymous?" "I wish to be left alone." Said Paul. "I do not make merry my at Christmas and I cannot afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I've mentioned: they cost enough: and those who are badly off must go there." "Many cannot go there; and those who can would rather die." "If they would rather die," growled Paul, "then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population." Nurse Joy gasped at this statement. Some people had given her a rude "no" but this was the worst so far. "Do you see that door over there?" asked Paul, referring to the door Nurse Joy and her Chansey entered. "Use it now" "Come along Chansey," said Nurse Joy quietly, "I think we've wasted enough of Paul's time." They left, and Paul returned to work with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than usual.

Within five short hours it was closing time. With an ill-will Paul leaving his chair and eyed Ash, who snuffed out his candle and put on his hat. "You'll want all day tomorrow, right?" Asked Paul. "I its convenient Sir." "Its not convenient," Said Paul, "nor is it fair. Trust me Ketchum, I have no intention of paying you a days wadges for no work." "Well… Its only once a year." "That Ash is a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!" "However I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier the next morning!" Ash promised he would; and Paul walked out with a growl.

It was now eight-o'-clock and Paul, having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his bankers-books, went home to bed. Paul lived in a house that once belonged to Silver. Now once again I must ask you to remember that Silver is dead and decaying in his grave. Why? Well… first things first I want you to know that there is nothing at all spectacular about the knocker on Paul's door, except it is very large for a knocker. It is also a fact that Paul knew _exactly_ what the knocker looked like. Let it also be borne in mind that the only time Paul thought about Silver, was when he told Nurse Joy "Silver has been dead for seven years." In spite of all this when Paul reached for his keys, dropped them, picked them up, and looked at the knocker… Well actually Paul almost had a heart attack because he did not see a knocker, he saw Silver's Face.

**CLIFFHANGER! sorry... I couldn't resist. The original chapter went longer than this, but I couldn't wait anymore. Part two will arrive soon.**


	2. Author's Note

Author's Note:

I will be going on vacation _very _soon, so I won't be able to update for a while. I will still write chapters, I just can't upload them to FF. Please be patient… or else…


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